


Brothers in Arms (3/5)

by totheletter



Series: Brothers In Arms [3]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M, San Francisco Giants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-01
Updated: 2011-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:13:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totheletter/pseuds/totheletter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The news is out, and so are our boys. But what was supposed to be an act of damage control threatens to be the biggest bombshell of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brothers in Arms (3/5)

**Disclaimer:** Completely untrue. Created to entertain, not to harm.

\----- 

Matt Cain's cleats squeaked on the wet grass. His jacket was zipped up tight, his hands stuffed in his pockets to ward off the chilly wind coming off the bay. He was walking across the outfield, to where Tim Lincecum was throwing a bullpen session. He waved to Lincecum, catching the righty's attention.

Tim held his hand up toward the bullpen catcher. "Let's take a break," he said. He took off his glove as Cain approached the mound. "What's up?"

"I need to talk to you for a minute," Cain said.

"All right, yeah. Let's take a walk."

"Some meeting yesterday, huh?" Cain said, less question than declaration.

Tim laughed. "Yeah, I didn't see that one coming."

"This is a tough way to start the season."

"You aren't kidding, man."

"Listen," Cain said. "You respect me, right?"

Lincecum shot a quizzical glance at the older pitcher. "Of course I do. You've been a Giant the longest of anyone on this roster. You're our union rep. You're basically the team captain, without all that nasty Jeterosity."

"You think everyone else feels that way?"

"Dude, what are you getting at?"

Cain pointed toward home plate, where hitters clustered around the cage waiting for a turn to take some swings. "Twenty-three guys on this roster. To say nothing of the hundreds more on other teams. Whether they know it or not, Madison and Buster are going to be wearing big targets on their back. Kershaw hits 'em with a pitch, I can't do much about it. We'll take it up with MLB. But I'll be damned if I'm going to watch it happen with our own guys. Buster and Bumgarner need to feel like they are safe and welcome in this clubhouse."

Lincecum nodded. "Okay, I don't have a problem with it. I got lots of gay friends, both here and back home."

"I'm not worried about you. I want to know what you know."

"You're asking me who we need to worry about."

"Yeah."

Lincecum sighed. "You heard what I heard yesterday. Huff was pretty pissed, and so was Belt."

"I talked to Huff," Matt said. "He said he overreacted. I think he was caught off-guard. And at any rate, he says he's going to keep his mouth shut about it. I believe him. Belt, I think, is going to be a thorn in our side."

"I think so, too."

"How about pitchers? Wilson and Romo are cool about it. So is Lopez. My question mark is Affeldt."

Tim furrowed his brow. "Maybe. I know he's a big Christian type. But he's also a really good guy. If he has a problem with them, I'd bet he keeps it to himself, anyway."

"Vogelsong?"

"He called me last night, actually. He's fine with it."

"How about the position guys?"

Tim thought for a moment. "I don't think Freddy Sanchez cares either way. Pablo, Nate, Andres and Cody all talked with Posey yesterday. I think I saw Whiteside and Fontenot talking with Bumgarner. Looked like they were getting along fine."

"Yeah, I noticed that, too," Cain said. "The more, the merrier. We can't fight off 29 other teams while the wheels of our own clubhouse are falling off."

"I hear ya." Tim reached into his rear pocket and pulled out a pack of gum. "Want some?"

"No, thanks."

Lincecum popped a piece of the bright pink confection into his mouth. "You know, this isn't your responsibility. I'm not telling you what to do, but you could just stay above all this and play dumb. Bochy can keep control of the team. Someone gets outta line, he's the manager. That's what he's here to do."

Cain shook his head. "Bochy doesn't want a part of it. He's avoiding it. I can't say I blame him, but damn, it sends a bad message. Did you see how quickly he hauled ass after the announcement?"

"True."

"Bad leadership. And besides," Cain said, lowering his voice although there was no one else nearby. "I knew about this a long time ago."

"Shit, really?"

"Yes. Tim, those two are good men. They don't deserve what's about to happen to them. If there's anything I can do to soften the blow, I'm going to do it. And I need your help."

"Okay. You got it."

Jogging footsteps thudded toward Cain and Lincecum. The two men turned to see Buster coming up beside them.

"Pretty good, huh?" the catcher asked.

The two pitchers looked confused.

"My cage session. The ankle feels great."

Cain's face brightened. "Oh, yeah. Yeah! Looks great."

Lincecum chuckled. "We thought you were talking about something else."

"Why?" Buster said, adopting a skeptical look. "What are _you_ guys talking about?"

*****

  
The morning before Opening Day, Buster's cell phone rang. His bloodshot eyes opened. The glowing red numbers on his alarm clock read 4:48 a.m. Groggily, Buster felt for the phone. He laid hand on it, and brought it to his ear.

"What?" he mumbled.

"It's Boch," the voice on the other end replied.

Buster sat up, adrenaline already beginning to course through his veins. "What is it?"

"Baggs has it," he said, referring to the Giants beat writer for the _San Jose Mercury News_.

Buster's sleep-swaddled brain had trouble processing the sentence. "What?"

"The photo. Baggarly has it."

Now Buster was wide awake. "Is he going to print it?"

"I don't know. We heard from someone who knows. But Sabean doesn't want to wait anymore. The picture's out there now. We have to hold the press conference today."

Buster looked back at the clock. "Now?"

"As early as possible. Eight o'clock. I want you and Madison to be ready for this, so you need to come on down so we can go over the plan with the media relations people."

"Skip, we've done that for the past three days."

"And we're going to do it again today. We gotta dig in, kid. This is the real show."

Buster thanked him and hung up. He prodded the blanketed lump next to him.

"Madison. Madison, buddy, you gotta get up."

"Mmmmmm. Wha?"

"We have to get ready and go down to the park."

The top of Madison's head emerged from the comforter. "Why?"

Buster was already turning on the bedside lamp and throwing the covers off his side of the bed. "That was Boch. They think the picture's out in public now. We have to go do the thing."

Madison sat up. "Now?"

"Yeah. Here." He tossed Madison a shirt as he flipped on the bathroom light.

*****

Joel looked as though he hadn't slept in days. Then again, Madison thought, everyone in the room looked like they hadn't slept in days. Bochy, Sabean, Dave Righetti, Ron Wotus, Larry Baer, the media relations people, Buster, Madison. They were all huddled in a small office just outside the press room, going over the plan for the conference one last time. Buster and Madison had been given statements to read. They would take no questions. Buster frowned and held up a piece of paper. "I don't like this part."

Sandy took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "Which part?"

"There's a part of the statement where I apologize. I'm not reading that."

"Read the statement as written."

"No. I'm not apologizing because we haven't done anything wrong."

Sandy looked to Bochy for reinforcement. The manager shrugged. "If he doesn't feel like reading the statement, don't make him read the statement."

She sighed. "Okay. We'll cross that part out."

Joel looked up from his notes, which were now scrawled with addenda and red lines striking out words and phrases. "I think that covers the final edits. We've got twenty minutes to the presser. I'll add the changes to everyone's copy, and get the finished copies to you before you go on."

"Okay," Sandy closed her notebook. "Let's take five."

Sabean, Baer and Bochy huddled, conversing in low voices. Buster couldn't make out what they were saying. Wotus stood and stretched. He passed by Posey and Bumgarner on his way to the water cooler. He placed a hand on Posey's shoulder, a warm, reassuring touch. He did the same for Madison, and passed on by.

Buster grasped Bumgarner's hand under the table. "Hey. We're gonna be okay. We get this over with, we can go back to playing baseball."

"Like a band-aid," Bumgarner said.

Posey squeezed Madison's hand. "Right. Like a band-aid."

"'Cept I bet this one's going to hurt a lot more."

*****

Word of the press conference had spread quickly among the Giants. Several of the guys showed up early so they could watch it in the clubhouse before heading out to their morning stretches. Among them were Lincecum and Cain, standing next to each other in the middle of the room, near where Bumgarner stood when he'd delivered the news three days before.

"You knew," Lincecum said, quietly.

Cain glanced at him. "Huh?"

"I said, 'you knew.' When we were talking on Tuesday, you said you knew about Buster and Madison."

"Oh. Yeah."

"For how long?"

"About a year ago. I think they'd been seeing each other for a little while before that. Before the Series."

Tim nodded.

Cain changed the subject. "Kinda surprised all these guys turned out to watch. Aren't they simulcasting it on CSN?"

"I think so," Lincecum replied. "Maybe they just wanted to be here when it happened."

Freddy Sanchez was standing in front of the television monitor. He waved one hand over his head, while the other pushed the set's volume button. "Hey! They're starting!"

The members of the team gathered around the TV and the room fell silent, except for the reedy voices coming out of the monitor.

Lincecum leaned close to Cain and whispered, "And so it begins."

Cain felt like he wanted to throw up.

*****

"What does this mean for the team?"

"Bruce! How will this affect the season?"

"With Opening Day coming up tomorrow, are you worried about concentration on the field?"

"There are people who say baseball isn't ready for--"

"Wait, I've got a follow-up!"

The questions came in rapid succession as reporters struggled to grasp the crux of the story. Flashbulbs went off furiously, and the room looked like an indoor lightning storm. Camera lenses zoomed in tight on Bumgarner, sweating profusely. Buster was struggling with a sinking feeling that had developed when Sabean took the lectern to read the team's prepared statement outing them. He looked at the faces of the journalists crammed into the tiny press room. There were familiar faces, like the newspaper beat guys. The radio and TV people were there, too. As Sabean read the statement, looks of confusion painted their faces. Slowly, Buster realized what was happening. They hadn't seen the picture.

 _They don't know what he's talking about_ , he thought. _Maybe it isn't as 'out there' as we thought._

He glanced down the table to where Bochy sat, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. He was coming to the same conclusion. And for the next five minutes, as Sabean stated the team's unequivocal support for Bumgarner and Posey, Buster felt lightheaded. This is not how he wanted to return to baseball. When the statement was done, there were a few seconds of uncomfortable silence before the room seemed to explode with activity. Reporters shouted above one another to be heard. Cameras clicked away, their flashes searing blue spots into the boys' eyes. Buster allowed himself a glance at Bumgarner, and immediately his heart broke. Madison was plastered to his chair, back stiff, face pulled taut and staring straight ahead. The press-shy kid from North Carolina was terrified.

Sabean struggled to be heard over the chaos. "Hey. HEY! The guys are not taking questions! Direct all your inquiries to me or to Larry Baer!"

Baer waved Sabean away from the lectern and leaned into the microphone. "I just want to echo Brian's sentiments about this matter. We are committed to another great season of Giants baseball. We are committed to these two star athletes. And we are committed to this fanbase."

Ray Ratto stood up, elbowing another reporter out of the way. "Mr. Baer! What comes next? Any punishments?"

Baer's quizzical expression gave away his confusion. "Punishments? They haven't done anything wrong. Why would they be sanctioned for -- guys?" He turned to Posey and Bumgarner. "Let me just ask you: Buster, can you still catch and hit?"

The two players looked at each other.

"Yes, sir."

"And Madison, you can still strike batters out?"

"You bet."

Baer turned back to face the press. "Ladies and gentlemen, that's not a coincidence. Because that's exactly what we signed them to do. Those answers are good enough for me, they are good enough for this team, and they are good enough for all of you. Let all your friends at the sports desk know, if I find out anyone's trying to make these two men into something they aren't, they'll never work in this press room again. Your organization's credentials will be revoked. And that is no bluff."

In the clubhouse, Belt had joined the other Giants watching the press conference on TV. Baer walked off the stage, followed by his managers, Posey and Bumgarner. Belt angrily switched off the monitor.

"Can you believe that?" he asked, pointing to the set. "He just goes up there and waves a magic wand and says it's all okay. That is bullshit."

"Shut the fuck up," some unidentified voice uttered.

Belt wasn't pleased. "Who said that?"

Lincecum waved a hand. "This guy."

Belt rolled his eyes. "Of course you'd be for this. We got the pot smokers, we got the yoga sissies and now we got the queers. The hits just keep on comin'."

"We also apparently got the redneck homophobes," Tim shot back.

"You can call me whatever the hell you want. But I'm right. We could have a perfect season, win all 162 games, sweep the Series, and this would still be the story. Those two gay guys from that baseball team. Fuck that."

"You're stepping out of line here," Ryan Vogelsong said, leaning into Belt's face. " _Way_ out of line."

"Maybe someone needs to!" Belt shouted. "Because none of you pussies will!"

"How do you know we aren't all fags?" Lincecum said. Belt glared at him with venomous anger.

"I'm serious," Tim continued. "For all you know, we're all gay here. In fact, I could be undressing you with my eyes right now."

Belt pulled back his right fist and held it, the tendons standing out in sharp relief and veins pulsing.

"You wanna hit me?" Lincecum folded his arms. "Try it."

Belt looked at him, then the eyes of the circle of men that gathered around them. Stony expressions greeted him. Belt put his arm down and shook his head. "You're all crazy, you know that?"

He backed out of the circle and stormed to the door. "You want to coddle the fairies, you go right ahead. But don't expect me to help."

The crowd began to break up, but the tension filled the suffocating air. Lincecum watched the double doors shut behind Belt. He looked to his fellow pitcher. "Cainer, we got ourselves a problem."

Cain nodded. He grabbed Aubrey Huff by the arm. "Go get him."

"What for?"

"Talk to that kid."

"Why me?" Huff said. "I already apologized to Posey and Bumgarner. Belt's deal ain't none of my business."

"When anyone on this team has problem, it _is_ our business."

Huff opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it. He sighed and stalked out the door in search of the rookie first baseman.

Cain sat down at a chair in front of his locker. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back. "Please don't let this be a disaster," he whispered.

A few chairs away, Vogelsong was toying around with his iPhone. He glossed over a few texts from his friends, and one caught his eye. It contained a link to the photo of Buster and Madison. It was against his better judgment to look at it. It was wrong to look at it. He wasn't going to look at it.

That lasted all of five seconds.

He poked a finger onto the link and waited for the image to load. When it did, Vogelsong's face went pale. "Oh, my God."

He stood, nearly tripping over his gear bag, and stumbled toward Cain. "Matt..."

"Not right now, Vogey."

"Cainer, you need to see this."

"It can wait."

"No, it can't." Ryan held the screen up and pointed to it. "Look at this. It's the picture!"

Cain shoved the phone away. "I don't need to see that. It's TMZ garbage."

"Dude, listen to me," Vogelsong said, thrusting the phone toward Matt's face. " _Look at this_."

Cain relented and look at the iPhone's screen. There were shapes, some light areas, a lot of dark areas. It looked like maybe two people, if you squinted. But mostly just undefined blobs. It didn't make any sense. Cain's mind began to whirl in confusion. "What the hell..."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you!" Vogelsong said. "This is the picture! This is that great big thing we've all been scared of. Matt. _You can't even tell who it is._ "

By this time Lincecum had walked over to see what had Cain's face looking white as a sack of flour. He looked at the screen, then at Vogelsong. "I don't get it."

Cain answered instead. "We just held a press conference dragging two of our star players out of the closet, based on this photo. A photo where you can't even tell what's going on."

Lincecum stared at the phone, unbelieving. "That's it?"

Vogelsong nodded. "That's it."

Tim shook his head. "Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit."

Cain sat down in a chair, looking stricken. "Oh, my God."

Vogelsong articulated what all three were thinking. "I think we just made a huge mistake."


End file.
